Sometimes the greedy me, needs a touch of space
So I drape my soul on an empty three seater
My rationale is a surfeit of carnal waste,
drifting in a no name train, I become the dreamer.
The persistent wallops of wheel help to enthrall,
and the caress with the iron rails has put me asleep
As thoughts flutter far beyond my conscious wall,
Into my dreams I pray hard for my soul to keep
Though my heart is mine and it cannot be bought,
Misfortune seems arbitrary in any case
And worry is that bully that offers naught,
And takes away, leaving many thoughts misplaced.
As burden clouds this already weary mind,
The unknown creeps along the shadowed silhouettes.
But why did I worry, when she didn’t mind—
if my desires came complete with sad regrets.
Her existence was that of ambient rays,
Like a childhood blanket, my soul was kept safe by her.
Sometimes it was not about the looks or the days
but how those precious life moments could still occur.
She was like heaven’s light amidst my lonely smoke,
My empathic sentiment to those precious years
Though her memory fades through walls like a specter’s cloak,
I still feel those goosebumps when her spirit nears
Her demeanor was like an old-fashioned textbook,
A patient read I could enjoy on any day
And though I was slow to comprehend her charming looks,
She was patient nonetheless, and that was just her way.
Although our connection was a wick that’s since expired,
Sometimes just her movements could bring me to my knees
then relit was that candle that burned like wildfire
And apparitions of her kept my heart at ease.
I am a conundrum in human form defined,
And my damning thoughts, they devour the ends of days
When the pantheon cracked and love was maligned
How did I persist with my ardor amidst such decay?
But then there were these moments when time permits
Moments where even dreams were more than just cognition
Moments where I reclaimed the piece my soul had missed.
Sometimes I deserve the love that I was given.
But, in a mad celebration of clear ignorance
I often wonder if and when I will forget,
Or was I destined to be tragic like Icarus,
so close to joy, then scorched by the febrile sunset.